


Indian Giver

by forgottenwords



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amulet, Angst, Episode: s09e15 Thinman, Family, Gen, Season/Series 09, bunker!fic, set post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgottenwords/pseuds/forgottenwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He saw the black cord sticking out of his brothers pocket and there was something so familiar about it that Sam just couldn't place. Reverse amulet fic, set post 9.15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indian Giver

He saw something familiar about the string dangling out of his brother’s jeans pocket. It was only a black cord, not too thick, the fibres twisting together to form the larger strand. Pausing for a moment from the book he was flipping through, Sam pondered whether he should ask Dean about what it was. 

His brother was currently standing beside one of the many bookshelves in the library, searching through the old texts to try and conjure any information about the unsettling mark carved into his flesh.

That feeling struck him as odd; that he had to question if he could even ask Dean about what it _was_. His brother wasn’t the only one suffering from their current situation, even though he was the one that spoke his mind to try and get Dean to understand there were consequences to his actions. No matter how pure they seemed to be at the time. But Sam understood the choices his brother had made, he did, it was just hard to see through the pain and betrayal to find that middle ground.

He wanted to trust his brother, wished severely, and it hurt that it felt like he couldn’t. 

Pushing back the sigh building in his throat, Sam shook his head instead, trying to disentangle the thoughts pulsing in the forefront of his brain and focused on the string in his brother’s pocket. Gathering the courage to speak, he took a deep breath and cleared the lump from his throat. 

“Uh, Dean?” Sam asked uncertainly, wondering if his brother would even acknowledge him.

His brother didn’t turn around, grounding out an impartial, “Yeah?”

He bit a lip anxiously before continuing, “What’s in your back pocket? It just seems…familiar.”

Sam witnessed in confusion as Dean visibly tensed, the book in his hands almost slipping from his grasp at the statement. He put it back on the shelf before it fell to the ground and Sam watched as he carefully reached back to grab whatever was in his back pocket, pulling it into his palm to conceal it from view. 

In earlier years, Dean would have joked, “Staring at my ass Sammy?” and he would have replied, “Gross, Dean!” with a grimace and crinkled nose. Now, his brother gave a broken off laugh, voice somewhat detached.

“There’d be a reason for that.”

Sam drew his eyebrows together, at Dean’s words and the way he was acting. He was…unsettled, for a better lack of a term. Though, he was interrupted from asking what was wrong when his brother turned around, features a controlled mask of indifference.  
That was another clue something wasn’t alright with Dean. The certainty that his brother was trying to mask his emotions from him, even more so than usual, revealed the true extent of how hurt he felt.

Not that Dean was an overly open man, far from it, but the sorrowful, numb façade he was trying to pull was easy to see through. However, the dead look in his usually bright green eyes was concerning, reminded him of when he’d been fresh out of hell and wished he _couldn’t feel a damn thing_. Now his brother was _trying_ to be numb and indifferent, it coincided with the idea that Dean was in the same mental and emotional state he was post-hell.

Sam swallowed harshly, partially from how much anguish he knew his brother was in, and because said brother was currently striding over to his position at the desk. The raw amount of guilt in Dean’s eyes had Sam glance away, his gaze preoccupied with the item clenched fiercely in his brothers fist. 

His brother placed his hand on the table, palm pressed against the hardwood to sandwich the object between them. 

Dean voice gave away nothing as he spoke, “I suppose you should have this, s’not like I deserve it anymore.”

Again, before Sam could comment, Dean lifted his hand and stepped away to reveal the trinket underneath.

_Holy shit._

His heart stopped. Blood ran cold and breath came out in a stuttering wave.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he timidly reached out a hand to touch what he’d thought been lost forever. It was a punch to the gut that Dean was still in possession of the freaking _amulet_. However his brother had gotten it back; he still held onto it, kept it in his pocket. But that just brought upon another whole wave of questions: how did he get it back? Why hadn’t Dean told him he had it? What did he mean he didn’t deserve it?

He was truly stunned as he ran his fingers over the recognizable gold piece, wrapping the black twine around his hand. 

“Dean,” he finally managed to choke out, eyes burning, “God, how long– 

Sam was so immersed in his thoughts he didn’t even notice that Dean had left the room. Stopping his words curtly, he scanned the library with a frown and leapt out of his seat to find his brother. 

He didn’t have to go far; Dean was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his palms curled over the edge and knuckles snow white from the grip. His head was dipped towards the sink, shoulders tense and caved in. 

“Dean?” Sam implored softly, noticing his brothers current state.

His head lifted up slightly, telling he had heard Sam, but didn’t turn around. If possible, his grip tightened on the counter.

“Sam, just…don’t.”

There was a pleading in his brother’s tone, telling him not to ask about the amulet, but he couldn’t abide that plea, not now. The revelation that Dean kept it for this long had his head spinning. 

“Don’t what? Ask about how you got..this? About why you didn’t tell me? I think I have a right to ask.”

Dean sighed loudly, releasing his grip to run a hand over his face. He was silent for a few moments. “Cas,” he uttered in finality, “I asked him to get it the moment you were asleep in the passenger seat. I’ve had it since then.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam pushed, edging further into the room, necklace tight in his hand.

Silence echoed in the kitchen once more as Dean mulled over the question. “I was…ashamed. Still am to be honest, that I tossed it in the trash in the first place. How much I knew it would hurt you, yet I did it anyway.”

He tried to interject, “Dean…”

“I saw the pain in your eyes Sam, as much as you tried to hide it, I saw. I knew. And to this day, you _still_ haven’t looked at me the same, not like before. That’s why I don’t deserve to have it, ‘cause I broke the trust you were supposed to be able to have in me, the faith, and I can’t handle it. I know something’s been broken between us, you were right, starting a few years back and this…this was a partial cause.”

Sam automatically took a half a step back as Dean turned around, the small self-depreciating smile that seemed to be a trademark these days present on his face. 

He opened his mouth in protest, “I gave it to you Dean. The fact that you did have it all these years, it means a lot, to me, and…I still want you to have it.”

Reaching out his arm, he held the amulet out for his brother to take as light shone off the metal, black cord swinging in the air.  
His brother regarded him with a sadder smile, “I’m sorry. But I can’t accept it. Not until…until I know you’re able to, or can fully trust me again.”

Dean shook his head sadly and brushed past his brother into the hallway, footsteps echoing loudly in the vast sea of space. Sam stood alone in the kitchen, head and stomach rolling, tight with emotion. Clenching the trinket still in his hand, he glanced at it again, memorizing the familiar shape that would always be etched in his mind.

Wordlessly, he took the amulet and placed it in the pocket of Dean’s jacket that was hanging off the back of a chair. Swallowing slowly and nodding once, Sam walked away, content that Dean would find the amulet and hold on to it. He was no Indian giver after all, and it wholeheartedly belonged to his brother. No matter what he said about trust, it belonged to him.


End file.
